


black stone

by viscrael



Category: Original Work, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Extended Metaphors, Gen, Short, Trans Male Character, weird formatting, written for an assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: The rabbit says,why are you lonely?The boy bristles. He says,I’m not.The rabbit says,liar.





	black stone

**Author's Note:**

> written for school, exploring one interpretation of peter pan's character & his relationship with wendy. hes trans in this, altho im not explicit abt it

i.

His mother says she wants her bluebird back. Says she misses her; says, where have you gone? Says, where are you rotting? Says, who pulled the still-beating heart from my daughter and strung it out somewhere? Says, where does your body lie?

The bluebird says  _ I’m here, I’m here  _ and the noise leaves his throat like a whistle. From where he’s hidden he observes the paint. He says  _ I’m right here  _ but she still doesn’t see him, and the words sink into the wallpaper. He falls asleep feeling lost in his own home, hearing his mother’s wails still coming from the other room.  _ Where are you? Where are you? _

 

ii.

The rabbit says,  _ why are you lonely?  _

The boy bristles. He says,  _ I’m not. _

The rabbit says,  _ liar _ .

 

iii.

The soup is too salty, but it warms his body from the inside. The tips of his fingers tingle with the heat. His callouses scrape against the side of the clay bowl, the sides rough, uneven. 

Across from him, the girl brings a wooden spoon to her mouth, and the heat meets her lips. She jerks the spoon away from her mouth quickly, wincing. “Hot!” She sticks out her tongue, fanning it with her hand as if to make the burn stop. 

He watches her fret over the burn from over his bowl, shoveling hot soup into his mouth. He tries to hide how the corner of his lips turn up in a grin at the expression she wears, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she fans her tongue frantically, but she notices the smile coming on.

“What’s so funny?” she says but with her tongue still sticking out, so it sounds like  _ whathd thdo fthunny? _

He can’t help it then, and he laughs into his bowl. She smiles almost crookedly at him, looking fascinated by the sound, and she laughs, and he laughs harder in turn, until they’re both just sitting across from each other, giggling into their dinner, laughing over nothing. 

 

iv.

He sits perched on a ledge overlooking the lake, rolling a black stone between his fingers. It’s smooth enough to resemble glass, and he wonders if there’s something special about this one, if it’s meant for something.

“Hey, Wendy,” he says, still passing it gingerly from one hand to the other. 

The response comes from behind him. “Hm?”

He starts to say  _ come take a look at this _ , but when he turns around to face her, she’s sitting a few feet away from him, her feet dipping into the water and her head tilted to the side as she braids her hair. It’s a dirty blonde waterfall facing him, three strands separating and combining again as she works dutifully. When he doesn’t say anything else, she glances up at him curiously. Another knot of her braid forms, and the waterfall tapers. “Is something wrong, Pan?”

There’s a heaviness in his throat. He opens his mouth to respond, but his mind blanks, just watching knot after knot of her braid form. He thinks about his mother. 

“Nothing’s wrong, sorry,” he says once he realizes he still hasn’t responded, only sitting there with his mouth open and the rock stilled, resting in his right hand now. He bounces it to his left and gestures it towards her. “Look at this.”

She finishes her braid quickly and takes the rock from him, and she agrees that she’s never seen anything quite as smooth, but he’s still thinking about the knots.

When he finally puts his feet in the water, it’s freezing.

 

v.

The forest is quiet the day that she leaves, like even the animals are mourning her departure. 

There is a hole in here, now, a raw wound that can’t be treated. 

 

vi.

He returns to his home in the middle of the night, closer to morning, and collapses with his back on his cot on the floor, too tired to care that it isn’t comfortable. His body aches. Bruises are forming already across his skin, and he knows he’ll wake up black and blue. For the moment, though, he doesn’t mind. Adrenaline still pumps through his body, telling him to move his exhausted limbs, to run somewhere, anywhere, to find something to throw his fists at.

But sleep wins. He’ll wake in the morning and start again.

 

vii.

The rabbit says,  _ why are you lonely? _

Pan crouches down next to her where she sits with her legs tangled. He says,  _ why don’t you struggle? _

She says,  _ why are you lonely? _

He stands up again and looks around. The forest is empty. The sky is dark, sun falling to dusk, lightning bugs beginning to peek out as the light recedes. He finds no predator lurking around to attack the rabbit, but he pulls out a switchblade from his pockets nonetheless. There must be someone around waiting, he reasons; there wouldn’t be a trap set out for her otherwise.

_ I’m getting you out _ , he says, crouching down to her again. She doesn’t move as he takes the knife to her ropes, the blade kissing the bight as he saws into it slowly. It frays. She asks again,  _ why are you so lonely? _

_ Shut up.  _ He saws quicker, but the rope is thick. 

For a moment, she seems to quicken. He breaks through the last strand and brushes the limp rope away from her feet, setting her free.  _ There _ , he says.  _ Go on. _

She rolls over onto her stomach, shaking her head to brush the dirt off, and her ears bounce with her. She stops. Looks at him for a long moment with her black eyes, pearly and smooth like the stone. But she doesn’t leave just yet. 

_ Why won’t you answer me _ ? she asks.

_ Go,  _ he says again, and he gestures harshly towards the brush.  _ Get out of here before whoever trapped you gets back. _

_ Why?  _

_ You’ll die otherwise,  _ he answers, but he knows that isn’t what she was asking. 

She gives up trying to find his answer. Maybe she’ll bother him another day. Just as she disappears into the brush, she notices,  _ You didn’t deny it this time _ .


End file.
